Say Anything
by WhisperMaw
Summary: Spot didn't like to talk much period, but he especially didn't like to talk about his family. Or the one where Race's family asked one too many questions. Spot/Race. Thanksgiving.


"Sean."

Knuckles wrapped lightly on the freshly slammed door.

He hugged himself tightly and sat down on the edge of the mattress they shared.

"Sean."

He wouldn't answer. Not yet. The ghost of tears unshed tickled the back of his throat.

"Sean, c'mon, I'm sorry."

The words were still fresh in his mind. Good intentions are only good when they're genuine.

"Spot!"

"Fuck you," he mumbled, unsure if he would be heard or not.

"Man, I said I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough this time, Tony. You should have fucking said something then."

"Please unlock the door, babe."

The familiar rattle of metal didn't so much as turn his head.

"Don't fucking call me that right now. Just go away."

Race should've been thankful that Spot hadn't gotten up and left before dinner had even been placed on the table because Lord knows he wanted to get the fuck away. He loved the Higgins', but they were nosy and didn't always understand that stop meant stop. When they'd begun to question him about his family, or lack thereof, Race should have known to step in. Instead he encouraged them to keep pressing. Spot didn't like to talk much period, but he especially didn't like to talk about his family.

The sound of a thud against the door brought Spot back. Race had sat, his back against the door, patiently waiting for the inevitable acceptance of his apology. Spot had no intention of forgiving him any time soon. So they sat in silence. He began to pick at the fraying thread of the blue-green throw blanket Jack and Sarah had given them a couple of months ago as a house warming gift.

"Babe?"

"I said don't call me that," Spot answered, his voice just above a whisper.

"I didn't know about your brother," Race started hesitantly, acutely aware of the volatile element on the other side of the door. "Actually I don't know shit about anyone in your family, come to think of it."

"That was the fucking point," Spot bit back.

"I can't read your mind, Sean. How am I supposed to defend you when you don't give an inch?" Race had given up on fighting the desperation in his voice a while ago. "We've been dating for 6 years and I don't know anything, _anything_ about the people who raised you."

"You haven't thought that maybe there was a reason for that, Anthony?" Spot tightened his arms around himself as the drafty air of their apartment sent chills down his spine. He thought about wrapping himself up in the blanket but decided it wasn't worth the effort.

"Sean," Tony unabashedly pleaded. "Give me something, please."

Spot couldn't help but notice the tremor in his voice. He stood up and dragged the blanket with him to the door before sliding down against it, back to back with the man he couldn't love any less.

"My dad was a drunk," Spot whispered, barely audible. "He didn't beat me or anything like that, or my mom, he just drank a lot. He came back from Desert Storm and was never quite right. My mom was away on business a lot because my dad couldn't really work. So I guess that meant she had to work twice as hard or something. Kind of left me and my brother to fend for ourselves. And it was great, I guess, until he got to be 15 or 16 years old and he stopped coming home before 2am. Started trying to get me to fence drugs 'cause no one would expect the 11 year old who looked like he was 8. Then he just never came home at all. Couple of weeks later the cops knocked on our door. My mom was away and my dad was piss drunk and they told me they'd found my brother."

Spot stopped and let his head roll back into the hard wood of the door. He wasn't sure if he was waiting for some sort of answer from Race or if he just wasn't ready to keep going. Either way the silence held for what felt like an eternity.

"I don't even think they were authorized to tell me, but they did. Said he'd washed up across the bridge, stabbed to death with a blue bandanna stuffed down his throat." He paused again and wiped the back of his hand under his nose. "The apartment…it had uh…always been kind of quiet. We didn't have large family dinners like you guys. It was never that loud. I can't remember it having ever been but, uh, with my big brother gone no one ever said a word. That's one of the reasons I liked you and your family so much, Tony. They were the complete opposite of what mine had been like growing up."

Silence fell over them again and Sean reached a hand up to the doorknob, the clinking medal deafening as he unlocked the door. He sat back on his knees, blanket falling away from his shoulders and pulled the door open slowly. Race's eyes looked red but as far as he could tell they were dry. Neither of them stood. Spot inched forward slightly until their noses were almost touching, one tilt of his chin and their lips would meet.

Spot kissed the way he did everything. Hard, calculated, like every moment was some sick sort of power play and Race would've been lying if said he didn't like it. When they finally pulled apart, Spot was having a hard time remembering why he was pissed in the first place when there were far better, more important places to be. Such as the mattress inside the bedroom that they shared. If they even made it there.

Race didn't need to be asked twice.

That morning after Thanksgiving, when Race awoke on the floor with a blue-green blanket in desperate need of washing tangled around his legs, he couldn't help but brush the hair out of tightly shut eyes before nuzzling his head down into the nape of his neck, the air around them sharp with a late November chill.

"M'sorry about your brother…" Race slurred, his voice drunk with sleep.

"S'okay," Spot replied.

Spot somehow managed to burrow himself even further back into Racetrack in an attempt to ward off the cold. Race was going to be cranky about having slept the entire night on the floor and Spot could already feel a crick in his neck and an ache in his back. Somehow it was worth it. It had to be. There were plenty of nights that he wouldn't have blamed Race for walking out on him. Plenty of nights that he'd come home angry and confrontational and Race just happened to get the brunt of spiteful words. Spot was far from perfect and Race came way too close. At the end of the day the family he came from didn't matter anymore. Not when Anthony Higgins had opened up his door and taken in the stray. He'd given Spot a family worth talking about.

"Hey, Race?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Spot could feel the brush of smiling lips against the back of his neck.

Sarah would not be too happy if she ever saw what happened to the blanket.

**Thank you so much to my new beta reader the-holiday-club on tumblr for reading this over for me3**


End file.
